


A Lot Like Falling Asleep

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Telling Darren to leave is a lot easier than actually making him, and Chris knows that he won’t, that he’s too comfortable with Darren’s toes pressed against his ankle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot Like Falling Asleep

It’s late, and Chris is tired, and all of the adrenaline and excitement he has been running on for the past week and a half has finally tapered off. Chris knows he’s been more exhausted in his life, but right now he can’t think of when. He likes to think that, if he had the time, he’d spend days sleeping. But he knows that if he didn’t start shooting tomorrow then his book tour just would have stretched longer.

He’s not a slave to his work; he loves it, and he loves being busy. He loves sleep, too, just not as much. But right now, between one load of work and the next, it’s all he can really think about.

“You should probably go,” Chris murmurs softly, tilting his nose into Darren’s curls. Darren hadn’t been apart of the plan for that night, but there he had been, sitting as inconspicuously in his car as possible. Chris knows that he’d have sat right on the front step, waiting for Chris to come home, if there wasn’t the ever present fear of lurking cameras.

He’s dozed off a few times now, but Darren’s gentle circles low on his stomach always draw him back to consciousness.

“Come on,” Chris says around a yawn, wiggling slightly and making Darren groan in protest. “We both have work tomorrow.”

“We can carpool,” Darren insists sleepily and Chris huffs out a small laugh. It’s not like it isn’t something they’ve done in the past but things are a little different now. They’ll hardly be filming at the same times or in the same places.

“Dare…”

“Drive separately,” Darren snuffles into the cotton of his t-shirt and Chris threads his fingers in Darren’s curls. “Don’t make me leave,” he says so softly, twisting his head to look up with eyes that aren’t nearly as sleepy as Chris had assumed.

Chris hesitates. He knows that with Darren there he’ll sleep more soundly than he would otherwise. California nights are warm, but he keeps his air low and it’s practically perfected cuddled up to someone as warm as Darren beneath a down comforter. On the other hand, it makes Chris incredibly reluctant to get up in the morning and actually do things he needs to do, like shower and eat and actually go to work.

“I missed you,” Darren tries instead, but Chris knows it’s not an empty plea. Still, he smiles, amused, closing his eyes and relaxing back into his pillows (he’d  _missed_  his pillows).

“You saw me plenty,” Chris teases rather than saying what he hopes isn’t too obvious ( _I missed you, too, so much_ ).

“Not enough.” Darren’s head settles heavier on Chris’s shoulder and Chris knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Telling Darren to leave is a lot easier than actually making him, and Chris knows that he won’t, that he’s too comfortable with Darren’s toes pressed against his ankle.

“Clinginess isn’t attractive, Darren,” Chris chides, but his voice is full of nothing but fondness. Darren smiles into Chris’s chest and glances up at him through his eyelashes.

“You love it,” he whispers in a singsong, but Chris doesn’t deny it. Because he  _does_. So he smiles, closes his eyes, and scrapes his fingernails against Darren’s scalp.

“Hey Chris?” Darren hedges after a few comfortable minutes of silence.

“Shhh, sleeping,” Chris answers and Darren’s chuckles vibrate against his side.

“The light’s still on.”

Chris cracks open his eye and, yes, the light  _is_  still on. Ugh, why is his bedside lamp so far  _away?_  He pays it enough attention that it takes him by surprise when he suddenly feels the warmth of Darren’s breath against the exposed expanses of his throat. His breath catches in anticipation, and he feels the dryness of Darren’s lips skitter across the raised skin of his scar.

He isn’t sure why but Darren loves to lavish this particular spot on Chris’s neck with attention. Never mind that Chris is incredibly self conscious about it—then again, he can’t help but think that that’s one of the reasons.

“Darren,” Chris tries to say in a warning voice, but it comes out much breathier than he intends.  _Fuck_. Another reason having Darren stay is a horrible, horrible idea. “I’m exhausted,” is what he goes with, instead.

“I know.”

Chris can feel Darren’s eyelashes flutter against the skin beneath his jaw.

“So if you’re here because—”

“I’m not.” Darren drops another kiss. “I know you’re tired.” He pulls back, propping himself with a forearm against Chris’s chest. The weight isn’t crushing; if anything, it’s familiar and soothing ( _I missed you_ ). Darren makes a point of catching Chris’s eyes, and, while they’re darker than normal, they’re earnest.

“But I missed you,” Darren whispers, as if that’s enough of a reason. Chris smiles at him like he’s insane.

“Darren, I was gone—”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I did, Chris.” Darren stares at him intently, and then the look softens. “I need to remember you.”

It’s the sort of thing that shouldn’t make sense, that  _doesn’t_  make sense, but still seems right when Darren says it. He leans back down, tracing the outline of Chris’s scar with the tip of his nose, and Chris’s eyes flutter shut. It’s sweet in a way that makes Chris ache.

Darren swings his leg over Chris, and he’s about to protest when Darren simply settles his weight on top of Chris and keeps his face tucked innocently into Chris’s neck. The weight of Darren on top of him is a comfort that Chris can’t fully comprehend, and thus can’t even begin to explain. But it makes his whole body sink blissfully into the mattress, pinned down by Darren’s.

Chris’s hand grips at Darren’s hip for a moment before dipping beneath Darren’s shirt and splaying against the warm skin of Darren’s lower back—Darren hums in appreciation.

He doesn’t open his eyes until Darren is shifting again, and, even then, it’s to find Darren hovering directly above him. Their noses are practically touching and Chris can’t resist the urge to tilt up and rub them together.

Darren grins.

“What?” Chris asks, his voice dropped to a hush due to their close proximity. Darren’s body is being held up almost entirely by Chris’s own, but his forearms are still pushing into the pillows by Chris’s head. Chris doesn’t look—the strain in Darren’s arms does things to Chris he does  _not_  have the energy for tonight. And somehow, Darren still manages to maneuver until he can cup Chris’s face in his hand—Chris leans into it on instinct.

“You’re just really fucking beautiful.”

It catches Chris by surprise. He can feel his face heat, is positive that Darren can feel it in his fingertips, too. Because it doesn’t matter how many times people seem to tell him that, because people tell him more frequently than he ever would have expected a few years ago. But people say it, and Chris hears them, and it doesn’t change the voice he hears inside his own head when he looks in the mirror.

Darren knows how to drown out that voice. He knows how to make it so that Chris doesn’t remember mirrors, or what he sees in them, and teaches Chris to see what he sees, instead. There’s still that insecurity— _I’m not, I’m not, I’m not_ —but it’s impossible to look at Darren and not see how every inch of Darren believes every inch of what he’s saying.

Chris always has the urge to refute it, but he knows Darren. He can hear how easily he says it, saying it not because it’s what he thinks Chris wants to hear (in fact, Chris can’t _handle_  hearing it most of the time) but because it’s what Darren is thinking, what Darren wants to say, what Darren  _believes_.

It doesn’t make taking compliments any easier, even knowing all of this. Chris still can’t not blush, and he can’t just accept that someone like Darren (someone who is so incredibly, painfully beautiful) thinks that  _he’s_  beautiful.

So he does the only thing he can think to do, and tilts up just enough so that their lips brush.

 _I missed you. I’m glad you’re here. Thank you, thank you, thank you_.

 _I love you_.

“I thought you were exhausted,” Darren says, his lips catching against Chris’s as he speaks.

“I am.” Chris pulls back until their noses are brushing again. “Sorry, I forgot that chaste kisses mean exuberant sex in your world.”

Darren chomps his teeth together playfully, and smiles softly. He closes his eyes and just moves the tip of his nose back and forth against Chris’s. He nearly has to cross his eyes to keep looking at Darren, but he manages, even if his eyelids are starting to feel unbearably heavy.

But then Darren stops, pitching forward until their foreheads and pressed together, and slowly opening his eyes. Darren isn’t making eye contact exactly, his gaze focused slightly south of Chris’s gaze.

“One day I’m going to count all of your freckles,” Darren says, his breath warm against Chris’s mouth in a way that makes his lips part. Chris just looks up at him, entranced by the softness and affection he can see in Darren’s expression.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Chris whispers.

“Maybe,” Darren agrees. “Like counting the stars. So many that you get distracted until you lose count.” His eyes flick up to meet Chris’s, just for a second, and then flick back down. So Chris lets his eyes close, giving in to the feeling of Darren’s lips traveling from the bridge of his nose down his cheekbone.

“I love your freckles,” he whispers into Chris’s cheek, and Chris knows. Can remember the way Darren’s tongue had laved over the cluster at the top of his spine, and how sometimes he just looks at Chris, dragging fingers from freckle to freckle and making pictures out of nothing.

He thinks about what Darren would do if they had all the time in the world tonight. When Darren says he wants to remember, Chris knows what that entails. He knows it means feeling Darren’s lips and hands over every inch of him. It’s sensual, but it’s not a seduction; it’s Darren relearning everything he thinks he might have forgotten, even though Chris is very sure he hasn’t.

Chris hums, eyes closed, as Darren trails dry, sweet kisses down his cheek until he’s nuzzling into Chris’s neck again. Chris feels the words bubble up in his throat, telling Darren not to stop, to keep going. Because Darren knows Chris, knows where to put his hands and his mouth. He knows exactly how to worship him. And despite every compliment, every smile, every milestone and amount of disbelief and happiness he’s had in the last two weeks, it’s one thing to be worshipped for what he is and what he’s become and what he will be, and it’s something else  _entirely_ , being with Darren.

With Darren, it’s only about him being Chris. Just Chris, in his own skin with his scars and too many freckles and every imperfection.

But he doesn’t say anything. He scratches his nails against Darren’s scalp and presses his lips to Darren’s forehead, keeping them there. Darren wiggles around a bit, and then it’s dark. Chris opens his eyes, blinking against his sudden blindness until he sees the top of Darren’s head take shape against the black backdrop of the room.

“You should come back tomorrow.”

It’s not a request or a demand. It’s Chris saying,  _Please come back, I want you to_ , without actually saying it. But Darren knows.

Darren always knows.

So Darren twists his head up slightly and presses his lips to the crease between Chris’s neck and jaw. He sucks a slow, sweet, tantalizing kiss there, and Chris doesn’t even try to keep his heart rate down or his breathing even. It doesn’t last long, though, and then Darren is letting his entire weight fall onto Chris, arms twisting until Chris can feel Darren’s fingers sliding through his hair. He closes his eyes.

It’s silent, but Chris knows Darren’s answer.

 _Of course_.


End file.
